The Pit

The pit was dim, dank, and filled with rotting leaf litter. Water had pooled into small stagnant puddles that burned the nose and creeping insects were everywhere. At the bottom of this pit, sat an elf, and a dwarf.

“This is your fault,” Gizmick said, glaring at the elf opposite him.

The dark-haired elf scoffed with a raised brow, “How is it my fault?”

“If it weren’t for your boot, I’d have not fallen in.”

Vulas sniffed in derision, “you were the one claiming you wouldn’t fall in. I only threw my boot because you can’t tell a walnut from an oak!”

Gizmick glared, “bean pole.”

“Malformed boulder.”

“Squirrel-brained, pointy ear.”

“Clumsy furball.”

“Me, clumsy!? Who fell out of a tree into this pit!”

“That wasn’t my fault; someone greased my bow!” Vulas eyed Gizmick curiously, “What’s a dwarf doing in Ilfel anyway?” He smirked, “You weren’t lost, were you?”

Gizmick glared, “I was not; I lost a bet. Had to gather some Elves’ ear.”

“Elves’ ear grows on the edge of the woods.”

“I know that, but Harnid wanted the extra potent stuff, the ones that grow under silver trees.”

There was a long silence. Gizmick glared, confused to see Vulas covering his mouth and shaking, “you ain’t going to be sick, are you?”

Laughter rang out in the pit, Vulas clutching his sides.

Gizmick flushed, “what’s so funny, elf!?”

By the time Vulas got control of his laughter, Gizmick was ready to strangle him.

“You’re lost!”

“I am not!”

Vulas nodded, “the Silver tree glade is half a mile that way!” Vulas pointed in the direction Gizmick had come.

Gizmick growled, sending Vulas into peels of laughter once more. His anger turned to concern as the laughs suddenly cut off into gasping and quiet curses. He wasn’t about to show it to the elf, though.

“What, choke on your tongue?”

Vulas coughed, settling stiffly against the pit wall once more, “if only. I fear there is more damage from my fall than I realized.”

“You mean aside from the broken leg?”

“Aside from the broken leg, yes.”

Silence wrapped around them like a heavy blanket; in it, Gizmick was surprised to realize he could hear Vulas’ breathing.

“Elf, how long have you been down here?”

Gizmick saw Vulas’ silhouette shrug, “just before evening fell yesterday, I think.”

“You think?”

Another vague shrug, “perhaps I do have the brain of a squirrel. I am sorry you fell trying to help me.”

Gizmick frowned, “alright, I’m making a fire, cold as a spinsters left tit in here.”

The phrase startled a laugh out of Vulas, which Gizmick ignored as he set to gathering the sticks and twigs that had fallen into the pit with them. The resulting fire wasn’t much to look at, but it cast enough light that he could see Vulas fully. What he saw was not good.

The elf’s eyes were closed, his head bowed forward, his dark hair was tangled and full of leaves and sticks, no doubt from when he fell in. There was a sizable bruise forming along the side of his face, and Gizmick would bet his last gold piece that what he was seeing wasn’t dirt along the elf’s hairline.

“You don’t look too good, elf.”

Vulas blinked open his heavy eyes, “ thanks, I’m sure you look like the prettiest princess yourself.”

Gizmick grumbled, “hate to say I wasn’t insulting you. Now, what’s wrong with you? I’m no healer, but I’m not daft.”

“Would you be upset if I said I wasn’t sure?” Vulas replied, willing to take the short olive branch.

“Right,” Gizmick shuffled closer, “means I’m going to have to look myself. You punch me, and I’ll punch back, you got me?”

Vulas gave him a weak attempt at a cheeky grin, “what about biting?”

Gizmick huffed, carefully taking Vulas’ jaw into his hand, “wouldn’t risk it, no idea what biting a dwarf would do to an elf, you might grow a beard.”

Vulas hissed as Gizmick prodded the lump on his head, “you’ve got a knot the size of my head here, you probably have a concussion. Have you been sick, lose consciousness, or disoriented?”

“Rather common for dwarves, I take it? I can’t remember if I’ve fallen unconscious, suppose that’s a big check next to disoriented.”

“We mine, the noggins take the worst of it.” Gizmick began running his hands over Vulas’ ribs.

“Explains the thick heads,” Vulas tensed with a hiss, fingers digging into the dirt, “yeah, I think that one’s broken.”

“Right, I’ll tie my cloak around it, should keep it from popping a lung at the least.” Gizmick shifted to his legs, “you said you broke the right one?”

Vulas nodded, his face pale, “felt it crack on the way down.”

“Right, doesn’t look like its a full break, it’s most likely fractured, let me take a look at the left.” Everything seemed fine until he reached Vulas’ ankle.

Gizmick let out a string of curses that would’ve turned the air blue if he’d had the breath as Vulas’ knee collided with his side.

Gizmick turned to yell at Vulas when he regained his breath, the mix of shock, shame, and pain on the elf’s face had him swallowing his words as Vulas repeated variations of, “I’m so sorry.”

Gizmick sighed, placing a heavy hand on the offending knee, “calm down. It looks like you busted your ankle and most likely just bruised that knee of yours. Good thing it wasn’t my head, it’d have broken your knee.”

Vulas choked out a laugh, “you know, I didn’t even feel anything until you started pointing them out.”

“That’s usually how it works. Let’s move you closer to the fire, the cold might help keep the swelling down, but it does no good if you end up sick.”

The move was an awkward shuffle through the dirt, Vulas letting out a high pitched noise when Gizmick accidentally hit his ankle with his boot. The dwarf apologized as he settled the elf against his shoulder. Gizmick noticed Vulas was very still and realized he’d stopped breathing.

“Come on, you daft thing, even babes breathe.” Vulas sputtered, “that’s it, try to pant if you can, should help your ribs.”

“You insult everyone you’re trying to help?”

“Shut it, bark for brains.”

Vulas managed a rasped chuckle before silence cocooned them again, Gizmick doing as promised and wrapping his cloak around Vulas’ injured ribs. The quiet was only disturbed by the occasional pop of the fire and Gizmick’s prodding to keep Vulas awake. The calm was broken by a low rumbling, causing both to look at the pit’s opening.

“Please tell me that’s not what I think it is.” Gizmick sighed.

“It could have been a mudslide?”

They sat, waiting, then, another low rumble.

“So much for that, I’ll set up some cover.” Gizmick slowly pushed Vulas off his shoulder, “you think you can sit up that long?”

Vulas gave a tight nod.

Three attempts later, Vulas was struggling to breathe, and Gizmick was fuming.

“Perhaps I can help?” Vulas managed to gasp.

“You stay right where you are!”

“I will, only if you follow my instructions instead. I think I may have a bit more experience weaving branches than you tunnel dusters.”  Vulas’ attempted smile was weak, but Gizmick appreciated it.

“Alright, fine, order away.”

Their shelter was erected in half the time it had taken Gizmick to put up three. Gizmick sat down with a thump next to Vulas once more.

“Right, now lay your scrawny arse back down.”

Vulas chuckled, settling back against Gizmick’s shoulder.

“You know, there’s nowhere for the water to go.”

Gizmick let out a deep sigh, “yeah, I saw that.”

“It could be our way out of here if it fills.”

“I’m a dwarf, we sink.” Gizmick bit out.

“Oh.” The short silence was thick, “I don’t know your name.”

Gizmick shrugged, “wouldn’t bother with it.”

“So, just elf and dwarf then.”

“Yup.”

There was a flash of lightning and rolling thunder, startling both of them into looking up. At that moment, Gizmith thought of a plan.

There was no need for them both to drown.

“You could float to the top,” Gizmick said.

Vulas looked at him curiously, as curious as glazed eyes could anyway, “What about you?”

Gizmick hoped the elf wouldn’t be too upset, no one deserved the fallout for his plan, or to be manipulated into it.

“I’ll hold onto you unless you have a better idea.”

“Would that work?” Vulas asked with a frown. His head felt like it was filling with cotton.

Gizmick smiled with feigned enthusiasm, “of course.”

Vulas nodded slowly, “Right, I’ll float both of us up, and then we can exchange our names.”

Gizmick nodded, feeling like pond slime, “right.”

Gizmith focused on a stream of rainwater rolling down the wall.

 “Help me untangle my hair?”

Gizmick gave a startled blink, “what?”

Vulas raised one shoulder in a shrug, “I don’t really like the idea of being found with sticks and knots in my hair.”

Gizmick stared at the head of black hair on his shoulder then, gently, shifted it, and it’s owner until it was in his lap.

“Not a word, to anyone.” He growled, busying himself with the elf’s tangled hair.

Vulas just smiled, radiating amusement, though he said nothing aside from a soft, “thank you.”

Hours passed, Gizmich finished untangling the hair and re-braided it, slipping the knot and bead adorned cord bearing his name, his family name, and clan runes into one thick braid, before helping Vulas lean on his shoulder again. He was worried, Vulas was having a harder and harder time pacing his breath. He felt him move closer as the first massive drops landed on their makeshift shelter.

“Why the left?” Vulas asked.

“Hmm?”

“You said a spinster’s left tit, why the left one?”

“You know, I’ve no idea, maybe the first dwarf who said it preferred the right tits.”

 Gizmick wrapped an arm around Vulas’ back as he saw the first small trickles spilling over the pit’s edges. As it pooled enough to put out their fire, Gizmick nudged Vulas.

“Alright, up you get elf.”

Vulas was shaky, but together, they got him into an upright if hunched position.

“Alright now you lean on me, that’s a good elf.”

“The rain's cold.”

“Yeah. What I wouldn’t do to be in the forge.”

“Would it surprise you to know I’m a smith?”

Gizmick did his best to ignore the weakness and pauses in Vulas’ speech, “you are? Didn’t think any elf could even pick up a smiths hammer, let alone use it, nothing but a bunch of pansies.”

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you. I bet I could toss you.”

“Not on your life, twiggy.”

The small trickles were becoming small waterfalls, Vulas jerked as one formed above them and fell over his head. They stumbled closer to the middle of the pit, Gizmick bracing Vulas as well as he could.

They couldn’t see the water, but they could feel it rising.

“You need to get on my back, it’d be easier to get us up,” Vulas said.

Gizmick did not argue, helping the elf down until he was level with Gizmick’s shoulders.

“Get on.”

Gizmick couldn’t speak past the lump in his throat as he wrapped his arms around Vulas’ shoulders, his neck, then squeezed. Vulas began clawing at them with a chocked gasp. Gizmick screwed his eyes closed, holding his breath until Vulas’ struggles slowed to a stop. Gizmick moved the now limp but breathing body until it draped over him, feet and hands already bobbing in the muddied water.

“I’m sorry, elf.”

As the water reached his ears, Gizmick stared at the top of the pit, one hand making sure Vulas’ head was still above water. He’d said his goodbyes in his head by the time a light appeared near the edge of the hole. He figured he had to be seeing things, but as the light wavered to and frow, he began to doubt his assumption. Thinking himself a crazy fool, Gizmick let out a shout he couldn’t hear. The light became brighter; perhaps he hadn’t been seeing things! As he went to take his next breath, his mouth filled with water.

There was an odd humming sound around him, it ebbed and flowed, flitting in and out of his perception like a hummingbird. Gizmick grumbled, couldn’t whatever it was see he was trying to sleep? The humming grew louder, so did his grumbling.

That was a laugh.

“They are calling you a grumpy dragon, dwarf, for all your growling.”

“Hmph.”

“Come now, will you not wake and defend your honor?”

Wait, Gizmick knew that voice, rough as it was. His eyes shot open as he recalled his last memory, arms flailing. He was gently restrained, and the hoarse voice spoke.

“Calm, my friend. All is well now; you are in the healing halls in a nice warm bed.”

Gizmick blinked at the elf in front of him, blurrily, “friend?”

Another soft laugh and Gizmick’s vision cleared to reveal Vulas sitting on his bed next to him, dressed in dark brown robes. Both leg and ankle were in splints, there was a bandage on his head and bruising around his throat.

“Well, you did save my life, though you and I will be talking about how you did it. A friend is the least I could call you since I don’t know your name. You're rather skilled at braiding, though.” That said, Vulas held up the heritage knot cord, “there is a small mob of dwarves outside waiting to see you.”

Vulas looked at him expectantly, “now, names.” and Gizmick sighed, “Gizmick, Gizmick Whitbuckle. You might as well let them in.”

Vulas smiled, “Vulas Leosandoral, my friend.” Vulas waved to an attendant by the door, and a flood of twelve dwarves fell into the room.

 Gizmick ignored them at first, smirking at Vulas, and grunted, “what if I don’t want you to call me that, you walking water lily.”

Vulas shrugged, “tough luck, you waterlogged tree stump.”

“Tree stump!? I’ll show you a tree stump!”

“Watch your mouth you overgrown-”

“Why I outta-”

The dwarves were talking over themselves, while Vulas stared at them in utter shock, at first. Then he saw the look on Gizmick’s face. 

“Hey, now, who told you lot could attack my friend there?”

The dwarves’ yells fell to a confused and sudden halt.

Vulas and Gizmick shared a look over their heads before bursting into laughter, joined by the other dwarves as they picked up on the joke.

Outside Gizmick’s room, passing healers paused at the sound of dwarvish cursing and elven laughter, then decided they were better off not knowing and carried on.